


Candid Melody

by BastardBin



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Scar admires Grian for 1300 words thats it thats the fic, Season/Series 07, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, this is the gayest thing i've ever written in my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin
Summary: He’s like a songbird in human form. Light and carefree, delicate and beautiful; he’s everything about this world that Scar loves, and then some.
Relationships: Grian/Goodtimeswithscar
Comments: 53
Kudos: 323





	Candid Melody

**Author's Note:**

> hi i was supposed to be doing other things but i watched Grian's episode, saw the bit with Scar standing in the doorway watching him, and then the gay took over my entire brain like a fever dream and now here we are

The trading hall is filled with the repeated sounds of _hello's_ , friendly faces peering out from behind their safe little alcove workspaces with their crafts in hand, offering each one for a fair price. It’s nice in here; homey and cozy, safely bubbled away from the outside world and the dangers that lurk in the shadows of the night. It’s a good place, the air comfortable as the creator of said trading hall bounces around, flitting from workstation to workstation with the firm direction of someone with an idea in mind.

Emeralds and construction supplies trade hands, the villagers smiling warmly at Grian as they gladly give him their carefully created stock, and the rows of shulkers near him fill ever more. It’s a tedious process, he knows; but the meticulously bought and gathered building blocks are more than worth it as they add up on the floor near him. It’s not a bad place to spend so much time, gradually putting together the amounts of what he needs, and his happy humming adds to the comfortable feeling in the hall. It’s interspersed still with the friendly greetings of the villagers, and with the peaceful humming and the smile on his face, there’s no place Scar would rather be.

He can’t help but continue to watch, silently, as Grian beams at another villager for the bricks they hand him. His smile so wide, so bright, the cheery tune fluttering about the room on his pleasant voice like a dream, Scar really could stand here and watch it forever. The room is warmed through the glass dome by the sun above, the light filtering in on dusty beams that glance across Grian’s face every now and again. It highlights the streaks of brighter gold in his blonde hair, catches the high points of his cheeks where they’re squished against his eyes from his smile. It flits across a faint scar, just on the edge of his jaw, and Scar wants nothing more than to trace that pale line with a delicate touch, giving away just how soft the builder before him turns his heart.

Grian turns again, makes another trade, and giggles as he carries his haul away to its shulker. It’s such a light, beautiful sound, just like everything else about him. The way he hops about the room, toes barely touching on the wood floor and the wings of his elytra half unfurled and streaming behind him, he seems so weightless. Like even gravity itself can’t bring him down, can’t ground the breezy man’s carefree spirit. It’s like he’s otherworldly, far more magical than anything Scar could ever claim to be so, and watching him just brings forth a rushing feeling of wonderment to his racing heart.

Leaning just a little bit more against the glass, Scar can’t help the way his legs feel weak. The way he feels like he could melt right against the wall, his heart tugged free and following the flitting shape of pure grace in front of him. Even the way Grian opens the shulkers tugs at his weak, hopelessly tangled heartstrings; pale fingers far too delicate to be those of a builder, grasping ever so gently onto the box lids with a grip just as light as everything else about him. His hummed tune drifts into his full voice, soft lips falling open as wordless sounds of a song only he knows escapes him. It fits with his movements, his steps as he prances from box to alcove and back again all while hitting on the swells of his song, his wings streaming along like a ribbon to the worble of his melody.

He’s like a songbird in human form. Light and carefree, delicate and beautiful; he’s everything about this world that Scar loves, and then some.

The air is shattered when Grian turns again and finally takes notice of him, his light and fluid movement stuttering to a halt in favor of a startled jump. The sweet, happy song escaping him comes to a sudden stop, pitching the room into instant near-silence, and Scar can’t help but feel like something in the moment he was lucky enough to bear witness to has been lost.

“Scar! Scar you scared me.” Grian breathes out after a moment, his voice high and breathless. There’s a dusting of red on his cheeks, though whether it’s from being startled or from being caught in such a lone moment singing to himself, Scar can’t be sure. He breathes a deep sigh, seemingly calming his nerves, before some of that weightless energy reconnects and he’s hopping around his shulkers again with his toes barely touching the floor. “What brings you here?”

Scar can’t find the words. They’ve been lost, somewhere, in the depths of the pull of the ground, while Grian soars far above and his thoughts go right with him. He can’t gather his conscious mind together enough to think of what he’s supposed to say, his thoughts filled only with the face in front of him and the way those soft features pull into a look of worry that makes his already fluttering heart beat all the faster.

“... Scar?”

He sounds so quiet, so concerned; the only sound in the hall is his voice, echoing ever so gently off of the glass around them. It feels like it wraps around Scar like a warm blanket, the gentle yet firm hold of a hug, all in the form of the care in that voice that haunts only the best of his dreams. He barely even feels his own feet moving, barely feels the glass wall vanish as he pushes away from it and steps closer to the being of pure, unhindered grace that he cannot tear his eyes nor his heart away from. Grian’s expression shifts into one of confusion, a puzzled smile pulling at those lips as Scar’s feet seem to carry him all on their own right up to the cause of his unending enamor.

“Jellie got your tongue?” Grian jokes, looking up at him with that faint smile pulling into one of teasing warmth. There’s a real question there, the faintest shining of concern still reflecting in his eyes, but the rest of his expression shows nothing but a fond softness behind an ever thicker dusting of a blush. It tugs more and more at Scar’s hopelessly entangled heart, and he feels like he’s moving through the thick clouds of a dream as he reaches out to trace that little scar he saw earlier.

Under his touch, ever so light as if Grian will disappear into fairy dust at the slightest of pressure, he can feel just how soft that pale skin is as he follows that line. Grian’s eyes flutter at his touch, threatening to fall closed as Scar’s fingertips find their way under his jaw, and his lips part again with the softest breaths he’s ever heard. There’s no sound, no melody escaping from behind them this time; but in the silence broken only by his own heartbeat in his ears and Grian’s slowly quickening breath as his fingertips trail under his chin, Scar thinks he can hear a song all their own.

He’s not sure who leans in first, but the brush of soft lips pressing feather light to his own can be none other than an action of Grian’s. The touch is so faint, dancing against his mouth with the same delicate sort of weightlessness Grian carries with him everywhere, and he can feel his heart soar right along with him.

Everything about Grian is light and free, like the fluttering of leaves in a soft breeze; but Scar learns, as he surges forward with the weight of a storm and the hunger of a whipping wind with fingers tangling in his hair, that even the most delicate things can be the most powerful.


End file.
